


morning light

by lilabut



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 11:46:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8142613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: Instead of the coarse fabric he expects, his calloused palm smooths over soft cotton and the ridges of someone’s spine. His eyes shoot open instantly, and his startled gasp mingles with a soft sigh. He's sitting on the couch, all right. But not alone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> set in a magical dream universe where negan doesn't exist, morgan didn't get into carol's head and she opened up about what happened with the girls.

_It was only a sunny smile, and little it cost in the giving, but like morning light it scattered the night and made the day worth living._

F. Scott Fitzgerald _  
_

 

He is warm, that's the first thing he notices. And it makes no bloody sense because he clearly remembers freezing his ass off last night. He is also about as uncomfortable as anyone could be on a soft surface. The couch, he thinks, smoothing his hand over the surface it's resting on.

 

But instead of the coarse fabric he expects, his calloused palm smooths over soft cotton and the ridges of someone’s spine.

 

His eyes shoot open instantly, and his startled gasp mingles with a soft sigh. He's sitting on the couch, all right. But not alone.

 

_Carol?_ he rasps, his voice a little higher pitched than he's comfortable with. Gentle blue eyes flutter open, framed by long lashes and he is so close he could damn well count the freckles on her nose if he wanted to. If she'd let him.

 

_Morning,_ she mumbles, burying her head back into the crook of his neck where she apparently fell asleep last night. Her warm breath dampen the sensitive skin there and he shudders, involuntarily tightening his grip around her. For some reason, she doesn’t seem nearly as surprised to be sprawled over his lap on the couch with her arms around his shoulders in the early morning as he is.

 

It's still dark outside, thick snowflakes dancing from the sky in the silver light of the moon.

 

_Sorry I fell asleep on you, Carol_ whispers then, and Daryl's eyes grow wide as saucers when one of her hands finds its way into his hair, sifting through the strands there so gently that he nearly purrs, dammit.

 

_'s all right,_ he mutters in return, fighting his way through the haze of sleep. He's clueless for a while as to why he's struggling so much to really wake up, why all his memories are fuzzy and refuse to take shape. But a small part of him _knows_. It's because he hasn't slept this well for years and he's simply not used to it anymore.

 

His neck is sore from laying awkwardly against the cushion all night, and he can only image the tension in Carol's legs. Surely someone must have seen them. _Pricks,_ he thinks to himself, cursing them for not waking them up and at the same time flushing bright red at the idea that someone saw them like this and just... walked away.

 

_It's still dark out,_ Carol whispers hoarsely, nuzzling her nose against his pulse point and suddenly he's feeling a bit too warm, palms clammy against her back.

 

Slowly, last night's memories begin to clear in his mind. He'd come back from a recruiting trip with Aaron - too late, much too late after the damn car broke down, and he hadn't taken the bike because of the dangerously icy roads. With numb fingers and clattering teeth he'd stumbled into the house, illuminated by the soft glow of candles, warm and inviting. He wasn't very surprised to find Carol awake, busy in the kitchen. Right, that's why everything still smells like cinnamon, rich and decadent.

 

Inhaling deeply, Daryl relaxes a little into the couch, too tired and exhausted still to fight this. Whatever this is.

 

Relief had washed over her face and she'd been across the room and in his arms not a second after he stepped inside. Nearly knocking him off his unsteady feet, she'd damn well crawled under his skin. _I was worried,_ she'd muttered, framing his face in her hands - warm and soft. Dumbfounded, he'd said nothing in return. Instead, he'd let her drag him to the couch, gulped down the tea and soup and cookies she sat in front of him and buried his hands inside the fluffy blanket she wrapped around his shoulder.

 

And she'd touched him. _God._ Usually, she kept her distance, but last night, she'd been all over him. Smoothing his frozen hair out of his face. Rubbing his calloused hands until they warmed up. Touching his arm for no reason other than to reassure herself he was really there, he guesses. Nothing she hasn't done before, but she'd felt so warm against his freezing skin. So damn warm.

 

How exactly she ended up on his lap is as much of a mystery to him as when exactly he took off his boots and vest. But there they are on the ground in the middle of a small puddle, and the blanket once wrapped around him is now bunched around their hips.

 

Running his hand up and down her back again, Daryl hums contently. Maybe it's just a dream, after all. Can't be that Carol slept sprawled all over him and is so casual about it. Happy even, judging by the way her lips curl into a smile against his neck. He might as well be bold in his dreams.

 

Leaning down, he brushes his lips against her temple, wispy curls of silver hair tickling his nose. She doesn't tense against him, doesn't pull away. Instead, she hums, clutches his shirt between her fingertips and shifts. Oh.

 

_Fuck,_ he hisses, but it's too late. Carol gasps slightly, pulling back her head enough to look up at him. But no way he'll meet her eyes now, not when she dragged herself against him just right, and he's pressing against her thigh like a horny teenager. If this is a dream, he prays to wake up soon, preferably before she scrambles off his lap and bolts.

 

But she does neither. Instead, warm hands reach up again to frame his face, drawing his head down until he can't help but look at her. Her blue eyes are dark even in the scarce light of the moon outside, but gleaming with something he can't quite name. Her lips, however, are what draws him in. Parted slightly, curled into the softest smile.

 

Maybe he should apologize, Daryl wonders. Then again, she hasn't pulled away yet, and he's definitely not holding her back. His hands have curled against the couch on either side of them, every muscle in his body rigid. But before he can even think of something stupid to say (because what the hell's he supposed to say?) Carol punches the air right out of his lungs.

 

One moment he was looking at her parted lips, all inviting and pink and sweet, and then they are pressed firmly against his own. He's grasping her waist before he can stop himself, unsure what else to do. But then she pulls away already, and _damn_ he probably fucked this up. One hell of a crappy dream.

 

_Hey,_ she whispers then, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones before her hands curl around the nape of his neck. _You here?_

 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he nods weakly.

 

_Good._ And then she's kissing him again, languid and slow and he groans when her tongue traces the seam of his lips and slips inside. She's rocking against him, soft whimpers tearing from her throat, sighs that sound so much like his name that he shudders all over.

 

This is not a dream, he realizes when her hands slip under his shirt, ghosting over his abdomen. The way he bucks up against her has him flushing bright red, but he's glad she can't see when he buries his head against her neck. Slender and pale, he mouths kisses from below her ear to where her neck arches into her shoulder.

 

_Daryl,_ she sighs, her hips grinding down against him in a maddening circle. Not a dream. Not a dream.

 

Definitely not a dream when he cups her breasts in his palms through the thin cotton of her blouse and she doesn't push him away. Instead, she arches into the touch, moans into the silent room. He drags his thumb over the stiff peaks straining against the white fabric, panting against her collarbone like he just ran from a herd of walkers. It's what he tries to think about, actually. Rotting corpses and Eugene in his damn Virginia t-shirt, because if he doesn't he's going to make a hell of a mess.

 

This isn't a dream. He repeats it in his head over and over when she fumbles with the buttons of his shirt and sucks at the skin of his neck. But it's also not right, not how he wants this to be. And _God_ does he want this. It'd be stupid to even try and count how many times he imagined this, over and over, his oldest memories of it dating back to the farm.

 

_Carol,_ he gasps then, and she stills her hand against the buckle of his belt instantly. _Gotta stop._

 

He nearly groans when she leans back, the sight of her stealing whatever small amount of control he still has left. Her hair a mess, her lips swollen and parted, glistening in the moonlight, the flush on her cheeks crawling down her neck, over her chest and to the dip between her breasts, disappearing there beneath white cotton. She looks shy, too, he notices for the first time since this all started.

 

She nods, and panic flashes through his veins like neon lights when she moves to stand. Grabbing her waist, Daryl drags her back down and she yelps, stumbling until she falls right back where she was before. _Don't want'ya ta go,_ he mutters, looking down between them where his chest and stomach are pale in the moonlight, pressed against her front. He's still hard and it's almost impossible not to press up against her. But he holds back, bites the inside of his cheek and takes a deep breath.

 

_What_ do _you want?_ she whispers, delicate fingers finding his chin and lifting it. How she can still smell so fucking good is a mystery to him.

 

He just wants _her_ , plain as that. For the rest of his sorry life, any way she'll have him. He just wants her to be okay, to be safe, to smile again. Lately, she is doing better, some of the tension easing that she carried for months. After she finally shared the weight of her secret with him, she seemed lighter. Less afraid of what lay inside her. And he wants it all, all the good and all that she believes is bad.

 

What he doesn’t want is this, for her to think that all he cares about is to get in her pants, a quick fuck to warm them both up and take their mind off the food shortage and the wavering electricity. There'd be little point in denying he wants her, though, what with her sitting right on top of the evidence. He wants to do it right, though. Ain't no rush. It's scary to admit but he wants to _love_ her. Hell, if he’s ever loved anything in his sorry life it's this woman.

 

But he hasn't got the guts to tell her that. Instead, he lifts a hand and cups her cheek, fingertips toying with the silver of her hair.

 

_Stay,_ he pleads quietly, shivering as the warmth of her breath tickles across his lips.

 

Carol leans down, his heart leaping when he thinks she's going to kiss him again. But she doesn't, merely rests her forehead against his. Fingers curl into his shirt where it lies open against his chest, and she slightly shifts most of her weight away from him. It's merciful, he thinks.

 

_Maybe we should go upstairs,_ she breathes, and his heart nearly shatters. Of course she wouldn't want to stay with him now. Why would she? She probably just wants to disappear into her room and sleep. He nods stiffly, looking somewhere at her chin.

 

Despite the fact that she's still mostly tucked against him, Daryl begins to feel cold again. A different kind of cold, one that doesn't leave him shivering but hollow inside.

 

_My room's nicer,_ Carol whispers then and before he has a chance to progress what she just said, her lips are back on his and she's dragging him to his feet.

 

They stumble their way to the stairs, a mess of tangled arms and exploring hands that are unwilling to let go. Daryl momentarily forgets that he doesn't even really have a clue what he's doing, but Carol seems to enjoy his messy kisses and the way his hands circle around her waist. At the bottom of the stairs they pause, breathing a little raggedly, and he looks down into her face with questions swirling in his eyes.

 

_It's all right,_ she mutters against his lips, reaching for his hand and entwining their fingers. Gently, she tugs him up the stairs, neither of them making a sound. But inside his ribcage, Daryl's heart pounds like it's trying to fit a lifetime's worth of beats into half a minute.

 

The hallway upstairs is mostly bathed in darkness, and his eyes have adjusting to the lack of light just enough to make out the shapes of the doors. Carol is making her way to the last one on the right, her room, bare feet pale against the dark floor.

 

He follows her quietly, but something quivers beneath his skin, something that he needs to say, needs her to know before they step through that door. They've already taken this too far to ever get back to how things were. At least, he won't be able to forget.

 

_Wait,_ he breathes, barely audible, but Carol freezes outside her door. Without thinking too much he gently grabs her waist and turns her around, stepping into her space until her back hits the wall with a dull thud.

 

He is so close to her know that he can feel her chest rising and falling with each breath, her legs parting slightly until one of his own slips easily between them. But he doesn't focus on that.

 

_I love ya,_ he mutters. Needing her to know what this is. What this means to him. And hell, he's never been as scared as he is right now.

 

She shudders a little against him, eyes widening ever so slightly. Then, something shines in her eyes. It's probably tears, he'll think later, but in that moment it's the echo of a different time, an easier time.

 

_That's pretty romantic,_ she whispers with a smile so mischievous and familiar that he nearly kisses the breath out of her right here in the hallway where anyone might stumble upon them.

 

She doesn't say anything else, but the echo of what she once said on a chilly night at the prison is still sharp in his mind.

 

_Sto-_ he begins, the same old reply, but she won't have it this time. A single finger presses against his lips, her smile turning tender.

 

_I love you, too._

 

The words linger between them, seep into his skin and heart like ink and he knows he’ll never forget the sound of them. He sighs, too overwhelmed to form words, and he sucks at those anyway.

 

Her free hand pushes open the door then, the click as it opens like a promise and a tease alike. Slowly, she pulls him inside, and his lips are back on hers before it falls back shut.

 

Neither of them says anything for a good long while after that.

 

 

 

By the time the sun rises, it shines through the gap in the curtain, casting a yellow light on the bare plane of Carol's stomach. He follows it with the tip of a finger, nudging his nose against the goosebumps that erupt all over her arm in response.

 

He's still inside of her, their hearts racing in their chests, skin flushed, hands entwined.

 

_Stay,_ she breathes, her legs curling around his thighs to lock him in, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. He nods, burying his head in the crook of her neck, rocking against her gently.

 

She muffles her soft moan in his shoulder, clutches his arms, and if anything ever felt right, it's this moment.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a friend who didn't approve of all the angst I've been writing lately (which I can totally understand). She wanted some smut and some fluff and so I whipped up this little fic today which is neither proper fluff nor proper smut, but I hope you enjoy it anyway - it's something happy, even though it's nothing special ❤


End file.
